Salesmanship, With Half A Dram Of Tears

Gripping the lectern, rocking it, searchingthe faces for the souls, for signs of heartfeltmindfulness at work, I thought, as I recitedwords I wrote in tears: instead of tears,if I had understood my father's business,I could be selling men's clothes. I could bekneeling, complimenting someone at the bayof mirrors, mumblingly, with pinpoints pressedbetween my lips. That was the life I heldin scorn while young, because I thought to livewithout distraction, using words. Yet, lookingnow into the room of strangers' eyes, I wantedthem to feel what I said...